


Wearing Shades

by CoffeeMinx



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Lesbian Approved, Oral Sex, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeMinx/pseuds/CoffeeMinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the Fallout Kinkmeme a long, long time ago:</p><p>  <i>Vulpes/Veronica</i></p><p>  <i>- Try to make it consensual (dub-con is cool, but not if it's the super-abusive or massively manipulative kind)</i><br/>- <i><b>Don't gloss over Veronica's lady-preference; she's not into men, so giving her a reason to be? Necessary.</b></i></p><p>  <i>And now that I've made this almost unfillable, I'll lighten the workload a little to say: doesn't have to be straight-up sex, but I'll be baffled by/in love with/generally in awe of anyone who can pull that off gracefully.</i></p><p>So I tried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wearing Shades

She was being delivered, like a pre-war pizza. Female, hot and ready. Dig your teeth in, boys. _How did our side lose to these Neanderthals?_

The warm breeze tickled areas of her that were unused to exposure. Well, all of her was unused to exposure, truth be told, her bulky scribe robes being what they were…had been. But now she had no clothes at all. 

Some Legion officer apparently had seen her in the pen of captives - what used to be Gomorrah's courtyard - and ordered her brought to his Lucky 38 hotel suite. So she'd been stripped and strutted across the street. Good thing it wasn't far to walk. The cracked pavement was hard on bare feet.

She wiggled her toes in the elevator carpet and enjoyed the familiar ride with morose nostalgia. When the door binged she noted it had taken almost as long as going to the Presidential suite. But she didn't want to think about that. Memories couldn't help her now.

One of her guards rapped on the closed hotel room door. Her heart pounded harder. This was it. Anyone could be on the other side. If it was Lanius, she was dead. He'd split her apart.

That _was_ why she'd been ordered here, after all. An officer wanted sex. With a woman. Guess he was going for novelty. Just her luck.

A cold, bored voice told them to enter. One guard opened the door. She stepped forward--she was a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, dammit, she didn't need to be carried to her doom--and suddenly there were hands on her back and the two guards shoved her inside. She stumbled into the middle of the room, hearing the door slam shut behind her. 

"Well that was charming." Surprise made her laugh. Her eyes swiftly searched for the room's occupant and found a long, lean man reclining on the bed, reading _La Fantoma_. "You'd think they're afraid of you." 

The man lay the magazine on the bed, then swiveled and stood with an indifferent ease. "They are afraid of me."

"Oh." Wonderful. At least he wasn't Lanius. The voice was different. Dispassionate. And not as deep. 

She watched him stretch, roll his shoulders, and then cross the room to her with the same effortless stride of one of those Legion mongrels. 

"Would you like something to drink?" 

He seemed familiar. Very intense eyes. 

She shook her head. "You want to do something for me, just put me back with the rest of the women and I'll be happy. More than happy."

"I gathered as much."

She looked at him again. He knew. She wondered if he'd been told she didn't like men or if he was just smarter than the rest. Not that it mattered. The good guys had lost and now she was required to procreate for the glory of Caesar. All hail the balding fuckwad.

"I saw you and the Courier once in New Vegas," he continued. "You might not remember me. I did not have my dog-head on at the time."

She whistled. "The things you see when you haven't got a gun. You're Vulpes Inculta."

He inclined his head in a ghost of a bow. "And you are Veronica Santangelo. Late of the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. The very late Mojave chapter, I'm afraid."

There was a glint in his eye, but oddly enough she couldn't tell if he was laughing at her or if that was a wayward mote of sympathy.

"So why me? Looking for that extra level of torture, are you?"

"No." He circled her, speaking as he walked. "You are intelligent. Articulate. Independent. And have no physical deformities. You are the sort of breeding stock I have been awaiting."

"Great. I get spotted by the only male in the camp who doesn't want to jump his fellow legionaries."

He ignored her. "I can make this…somewhat pleasurable for you. Or not. The choice is yours. It will be pleasurable for me either way."

Bastard. "That's my choice, huh?"

"Yes. Sit on that table… or bend over it."

Veronica scowled at the solid, pre-war wooden desk. Men and their dicks. Such misplaced pride. You're a lesbian? Don't worry, my magic cock will fix everything. Like hell. This was loathsome and offensive and unless he had some petroleum products stashed somewhere in the room, it was going to hurt. She might as well just bend over and hope he was quick.

Although…. 

Just bending over meant he'd get what he wanted the easy way. He wouldn't have to concern himself with her well-being, just head straight for his own orgasm. She was fucked no matter what. If he wanted to sire something, he should damn well have to work for it.

She strode to the table and hoisted herself up on the edge. "Sitting. Bring it, Man Meat."

He sauntered over, a smirk on his lips that she wanted to smack right off his face. He stopped in front of her and slowly tapped her knee with his right index finger.

"What?" She glared at him.

"Unless you have powers of which I am unaware, you're going to have to spread your legs."

She glanced down at her tightly squeezed together thighs. _Crap_. "Yeah, I know that. I'm…centering myself. For the ordeal." Closing her eyes, she hummed tunelessly for a few seconds. "Okay." She spread her thighs but kept her eyes closed.

His palms were warm as he moved her legs farther apart. "Just let them flop open."

She chuckled. What a conversation to have. "How dare you," she intoned with mock haughtiness. "I don't flop. I never flop."

The rough fabric of his clothing brushed her inner thighs. He was standing between her parted legs now. She tensed when she felt the backs of his fingers slowly stroke up and down the top of her thigh. 

A faint movement of the air told her he was in motion and her eyes popped open, defenses on alert though there was nothing she could do. He was leaning forward. For a panicked second she thought he was going to kiss her, but his mouth bypassed hers. He hovered, his cheek next to hers, not touching, but so close she could feel the heat from his skin.

"If this were Vegas before its fall, what would you most desire to be wearing right now?"

Of all the crazy questions…. "Who cares? It isn't."

"Answer."

She thought of all the responses he likely expected--T-51b armor, my power fist, your entrails--then decided to throw him off his game. "A dress."

He didn't pause a beat. "Color?"

"Red," she snapped right back.

"And whom do you wish to see you in this garment?"

"Christine." The admission was out of her mouth before she realized what she was going to say. It was a piece of truth and he would probably use it against her, being who he was.

He was still stroking her thigh. Slow. Unchanging. Hypnotic strokes. Her muscle had stopped guarding against the touch. 

"Her eyes will shine when she sees you." He was whispering now. His breath was hot against the skin of her ear. The sensation sent prickles up the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes and saw Christine smiling at her. Her wise eyes lightened by the cheerful grin.

"She tells you how beautiful you are."

Veronica snorted.

"The dress hugs your curves and accents your legs. The fabric is smooth against your skin. You feel comfortable in this dress. You feel powerful in this dress. She cannot tear her eyes from you. You know she desires you."

He spoke very quietly, slowly and deliberately, and she could envision Christine doing precisely what he said. They'd huddled together in her cot once and Christine had murmured against her lips that she was beautiful. That her hair was beautiful. That she shouldn't knock herself.

"She will pull you close."

The image of Christine embraced her. Christine's head ducked so her lovely plush lips could close on the pulse point at Veronica's throat. 

"It has been a long time since she has seen you."

_Too long._

His fingers stroked down to the inside of her thigh, and she tensed, ready for invasion. But he merely skimmed over her entrance, with that hypnotic back and forth motion, getting her accustomed to his presence. "She desires you. She wants to touch you. Everywhere."

Now he was grazing her clit on every third or fourth stroke. She couldn't help the hitch in her breathing that produced. Were people just slot machines? As long as a hand pulled the handle, there was a chance at a jackpot, regardless of the ownership of the hand? He was certainly pulling her right.

"What does she do first?"

Veronica swallowed. She shouldn't play along. But an unmistakeable little ache was knotting deep inside her, hinting at the possibility that this might end very well indeed. "She touches me."

"Where?" His voice was a whisper. "Here?"

Two of his fingers pressed in and up and a soft sigh escaped her in response. "Yes."

He was rubbing in small circles, ever so gradually pressing harder. She started to move her hips a little, pressing back, and closed her eyes tighter, mentally grasping for that image of Christine. 

Christine's fingers. Deft. Strong. Knowing. 

Then wet heat surrounded her nipple. A tongue rubbing. The delicate graze of teeth, threatening, promising so much more. Her spine arched of its own accord.

His mouth left her breast, fabric brushed her thighs, he was lowering himself.... Her eyes shot open. Where was he going? He wasn't going to--

Suddenly his fingers were spreading her open and his tongue…. Steel preserve us, how could he do that with his tongue? 

She rocked against him, her body refusing to acknowledge just whose dark head was between her thighs. A tongue's a tongue. And he knew what he was doing with it, she had to give him that. 

Quickly she pictured Christine before the tight, tingly feeling inside her fled. Christine's mouth on her, worshiping her body, loving her. She bit her lip as her entire frame seized up, tense, straining, while pleasure burned through her nerves.

She might have lost a moment of time. She felt…good. Relaxed. Warm and comfy and it would have been nice to just sit and glow for a bit but he was standing up and it was going to be his turn now. 

He took hold of her shoulders, steadying her. She hadn't realized she was swaying. The skin of his lower face glistened with her moisture. That was sorta hot, in a very wrong, wrong way. At least she wouldn't need any petroleum supplies for what would follow next.

He wasn't even undressed. Guess all they had to do was shove their skirt out of the way. She felt his hands grip her waist securely. 

And lift her off the table, helping her to stand.

"You have the run of the suite if you wish to remain. Water, sarsaparilla and fruit are in the kitchen. Magazines by the bed."

"Wait. You didn't…you didn't…."

"Next time."

"Great," she snapped. "There wasn't supposed to be a next time. You're just in this for the mindfuck, aren't you? Bastard." She wanted to tell herself to shut up. She was lucky he hadn't hit her for insubordination or something. Why was he letting her go on at him like this? Why was she pushing her luck? She cringed inwardly as she hear her mouth continue, "Absolutely must have an heir to replace yourself with, huh?"

His voice was calm as ever as he answered, "Not me." With gentle movements, he brushed her hair off her face, tucking one lock behind her ear, but his eyes were distant, focused on something else entirely. "The Legion cannot sustain itself if it holds to the ideology of a forgotten civilization forever. I have read…and noted from my time amongst the Profligates, ideas…doctrines that would make us stronger, greater."

"Like equal rights for women?"

"Perhaps."

"Wait, what?"

"But it would take a strong, clever leader to know how to enact such changes. And Caesar has not designated an heir. Yet."

She met his level gaze. The two of them could have one hell of a clever baby. With the right teaching, the Legion wouldn't know what hit it. The future might be brighter than she thought.


End file.
